"ʙᴜᴛ ɪꜰ ᴡᴇ ʟᴏᴠᴇᴅ ᴀɢᴀɪɴ, ɪ ꜱᴡᴇᴀʀ ɪ'ᴅ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ʀɪɢʜᴛ."

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

⋆·˚ ༘ *

*Trigger warnings: mild mentions of self-harm

Chaos theory says that a butterfly flapping its wings can change the course of a storm halfway around the world. I've always liked that idea—that small things, unnoticeable things, can spiral into something unstoppable. But what nobody tells you is that living inside a fucking storm is a lot less poetic than it sounds. It's messy, and loud, and so damn exhausting. It's a constant battle to figure out which flap of which wings set everything in motion—and whether you can stop it before the whole thing rips you apart.

Avery doesn't believe in chaos theory, though. To her, life isn't storms or butterflies; it's bricks and walls. Solid. Predictable. She's always building something—fortresses, defenses, anything to keep herself from feeling the ripple of the storm. Anything to hold on to control.

A lot of it is because of her mom. She's like her that way.

But chaos doesn't care about control. It doesn't care about walls, or plans, or what you want. It's just there, crawling under the surface, waiting for a crack to burst through.

And the cracks are already starting to show.

I steal glances at her out of my peripheral vision. Her usual, sharp, self-assuredness seemed to dull, like someone turned the volume down.

"Hey," I say, "Are you...okay?"

She stalls for a moment, like she's thinking. Her hand trembles slightly. "I'm fine," she replied. The words sound practiced. Mechanical.

I step closer. "Avery...you don't have to do this with me. You can just say it if you're not fine. It's okay."

Her jaw tightens. I'm bracing myself for the snap when she tells me to shut up. Instead, she sighs.

She doesn't answer me. The walk is so horribly quiet I want to say something, anything, to get a word out of her. Avery is the type of person who would fill silences like this with something along the lines of sarcasm or dark humor. Anything to keep the conversation from sticking to her for too long. But now, she's quiet. Too quiet. She continues her watch of the gray winter sky, her breath coming out in short, visible puffs, while her fingers fiddle absently with the sleeve of her jacket.

"It's not about me," she says suddenly. Her voice is dry, monotonous, almost like she's been debating whether to tell me this or not.

I stop, frowning. "What?"

"All of this." She waves her hand vaguely, frustrated. "Your mom, your dad, you, everybody trying to help me. It's not about me. It's about... I don't know, people feeling better about themselves or whatever. Saving me like it's some kind of...project." She spits out the word 'project' like it's poison.

"Avery, that's not— "

"It is," she cuts me off, her eyes meeting mine. I find it so hard to look into her eyes and concentrate at the same time, so I avert my gaze almost immediately. "Nobody does this without expecting something back. Nobody gets close unless they want something."

Her words sting more than they should. "You really believe that?"

She exhales. "It's not about what I believe, Kyran. It's what's true. I've seen it. Over and over again."

I want to tell her she's wrong. I want to tell her that not everyone in her life is going to use her or let her down. But I don't think she'd believe me, and honestly, I don't blame her. The cracks aren't just showing—they're jagged, gaping wounds, carved into her by years of being hurt, disappointed, betrayed, or worse.

"I care about you." I don't know what else to say to her. It's all I can offer, reassurance that I'm not doing this for myself, but because I care about her.

"But why?"

How do you explain caring to someone who doesn't believe in it? Someone who sees every hand held out to her as an invitation for knife in the back? My brain stumbles, trying to put words to something I don't know how to articulate.

"Because you matter," I finally manage. "To me, you matter. Isn't that enough?"

She laughs, the sound just as bitter as her coffee. "Matter. To you." She shakes her head, looking up at the sky like it might drop some answers from the clouds. "You know what's funny? I've spent so long being told what I am—useful, worthless, good enough, not enough. But you, you're telling me I just... matter? Like it's some universal truth." She glances back at me, expecting something, but I don't know what. "You know that sounds like bullshit, right?"

"It's not." My voice comes out sharper than my heart intended. "It's not bullshit, Avery. You matter because you're you. I don't need a reason for it. I don't need some grand explanation or payback. I just care."

Her mouth presses into a thin line, her fists clenching like she wants to fight me on this, to throw it back in my face. I think she's about to, but her face softens for a brief second.

"And what happens when you get tired of it?" she says quietly, so quiet I almost don't hear her.

My stomach twists into Gordian knots. "Tired of what?"

"Of me," she says, her voice betraying her. "Of trying to help me, fix me, deal with me. Because everyone does, Kyran. They always do. You might think you care, but someday you'll wake up, and I'll just be...too much of a burden."

"You're not too much." My words come out in a rush but, I need her to believe me. "Avery, you're not too much. And I'm not here to fix you, okay? I'm not your savior, or your therapist, or some...whatever you think people are. I'm your friend."

"And how long do friends last?" she mutters, folding her arms and staring down at her shoes.

"A lot longer than you think," I say, "If they're real."

She smiles. "You know, there was a time when my mom actually cared about me."

"I find that very hard to believe," I say. I'm not even joking, it's almost impossible to think that her mother, the devil, treated her well.

"Yeah," she starts, "When I first came here. She was wonderful. You know, she was better than my grandparents. I was homesick for my grandparents for a bit, but I loved being here. With my mom. Even my sister was very nice."

"That sounds... you're not, like, kidding. Right?" I ask, incredulous. I still can't tell whether she's joking or not.

"No, I'm not kidding." Her voice has a softness to it, like she's pulling memories out of a dusty corner she doesn't visit often. "It was good for a while. She would, I don't know...talk to me about school, make sure I was happy, make me breakfast in the morning, laugh with me. My sister would make loom band bracelets for me when I was sad. Kid stuff. But it felt...normal. Like maybe we could be a normal family. Like, my dad leaving doesn't even mean anything."

Her gaze drops again, her fingers curling into her sleeve. "It didn't last very long. I don't even know when it started to change. Maybe the stuff about my dad hurt her a lot, or maybe her protectiveness became paranoia. Maybe, she realized Eliza couldn't get the perfect grades, so she put the hopes on me. Or, she got tired of pretending to like me." She looks up at me, and the bitterness in her eyes could make all the flowers wither. "That's what happens, Kyran. People realize you're not what they thought you'd be, and they walk. Or worse, they just stay long enough to remind you every single fucking day how much of a disappointment you are."

I don't know what to say. This is the most she's ever told me. This is the most real Avery I've ever seen, and somehow, I think I like her better when she's a mixture of both. I used to believe she was faking herself around everyone else, and the real version of herself is hidden amongst everything. But, this is the real Avery. She's the smartest person I know, but also the sweetest person ever. She's funny but she's empathetic. She is hurting but she doesn't hurt others.

She's the greatest person I've ever met.

"She stopped caring about the little things first," Avery continues, her voice flat but trembling around the edges. I wonder how she does it, pretend like everything's not spiraling in her head all the time. "Forgot I liked wearing different clothes from Eliza, only asked me for grades and nothing else. Started accusing me of being a slut, just because she saw me talking to my sixth grade teacher. After that, she started assuming I had multiple flings with older men, and it didn't matter that I told her I didn't."

"Avery," I say softly.

"At one point, it didn't matter what I said. She'd assume whatever she wanted. She'd accuse me of whatever she wanted, and I could say nothing about it. I couldn't. There are times I wish she died, or that I died. It would be easier that way."

"Avery."

"I'm not going to do anything, Kyran. Don't worry," she says. "I just need to get through another year. Another year of being perfect, getting perfect grades, perfect applications, a scholarship. I can live my life away from here."

I want to hold onto her so tight that she'd never go anywhere else. If I could stay right here, for the rest of life with her, I would be very very happy.

"Avery, I'm really—" I reach out to hold her, to stop her from tearing that jacket.

"No." She shakes her head and steps back, almost reflexively, putting distance between us. "Don't look at me like that. I don't need your pity, Kyran."

"It's not pity," I say, keeping my eyes locked on hers, even as my chest tightens. "It's anger. I'm angry for you. You don't deserve that—not then, not now. You didn't."

She doesn't respond. She presses her lips together, trying to refute what I said, once again.

"I'm not her," I continue. "And you're not a disappointment to anyone who really sees you for who you are. You're the smartest, funniest and the most amazing person I know. I'm sorry your mom couldn't see that, but I do."

The silence stretches again, the only sound being Avery exhaling a shaky breath, brushing a hand through her hair.

"You're exhausting, you know that?" she mutters, her lips curving into the smallest, most reluctant smile.

There's the humor again, the defense mechanism she's actually mastered so well. Someone who isn't close to her wouldn't even see it, but I know very well what she's trying to do.

"Yeah, I've been told." I grin, letting her have this moment. "But you put up with me anyway. That has to mean something."

She looks away, rolling her eyes. "Let's just keep walking," she says, pulling her jacket tight around herself again. "I don't want to talk about my mom anymore."

"Fair enough." I fall into step beside her, our feet crunching the gravel beneath. The air still feels cold, but not as heavy. Like maybe the storm isn't winning today.

For now, that's enough.

★★★

By the time we get back, she's back to normal. Sharp-tongued, witty, like nothing ever happened. To anyone else, she might look the same, but I notice the cracks she doesn't want people to see. The way she chews on her pen during class. How her eyes drift out the window for just a little too long. The way her smile doesn't reach her eyes as much as it should.

"Kyran, is there a particular reason you're staring at Avery?" Ms. Carter asks, and I blink. Okay, I should be concentrating, but I passed the Python coding we're learning two years ago. To me, this is what the moon walk was to Michael Jackson. Why does she still have to call me out?

I force the charm to come save me. "Uh no reason. Just thinking about something."

Ms. Carter arches an eyebrow. "Well, think about Python instead. And try to remember that your classmates might find your staring...distracting." A wave of sniggers ripple across the classroom. I feel heat creeping up my neck but manage a quick, "Got it," before dropping my gaze back to the glowing screen in front of me with completed code that pops up with zero errors.

I catch Avery's eyes on me, though. She doesn't say anything, but the smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth when I glance her way speaks volumes.

I don't even notice anything until she appears beside me. "Walk me to class?" she asks.

Reaction fails me. She's never asked me that before. All she's ever done so far was groan or roll her eyes when I walked her.

"Are you alive in there?" She is suddenly in front of me, waving her arms dramatically in front of me. "Oh gosh, the shame killed you, didn't it?"

"No, no. You asked me to walk you to class."

She smiles. "Well, we are friends, are we not?"

"Uh, yeah. Of course," I say, stumbling over the words like some awkward middle-school kid caught talking to his crush. My chair scrapes the floor as I stand, earning another look from Ms. Carter. Her eyebrows raise, much like earlier, and that smirk—half annoyed, half-I-don't-have-the-time-for-this—tells me all I need to know.

Avery walks slower than usual, like she's waiting for me to match it. Walking next to her feels...different. Not because we haven't done it before—we have. Plenty of times. But this is the first time she's initiated it. Like she actually wants me there.

"So," I begin, fishing for something to say. I don't want to make it sound weird. "Is this one of those times you need me to get something for you? Like, oh no, I need my coffee—save me, Kyran!"

"Pfft, please," she scoffs. "I'd rather trust Gemma with my coffee order. You got me an Vanilla Latte when I asked for a Cappuccino. I had to suffer in silence from how sweet it was."

"First of all, ouch," I say, "Second of all, the barista messed it up. I did say Cappuccino."

"I'm doing you a favor, Kyran. Someone has to keep your fragile ego in check."

"So why'd you really ask me?" I press, genuinely curious now. "What's the catch?"

"No catch." She shrugs. "You looked like you were about to get yourself in trouble back there by staying in your seat for so long after everyone has left. Thought I'd give Ms. Carter a break. Really, I am a humanitarian."

"That's so selfless of you," I deadpan, and she grins.

This moment, it feels like we're in our own bubble. She stays quiet, her hands stuffed into her pockets, her eyes forward. It's not such an uncomfortable silence this time. It's easy. Like walking next to her is where I'm supposed to be.

⋆·˚ ༘ *

Hi guys!

Seems like we're back on a schedule! Now that college has ended for 2024, I can actually focus on writing. I'm super psyched, finally. 

If you guys enjoyed this chapter, please consider leaving me a vote and/or comment. I'd appreciate it lots. Thankiesss.

reindree.